Nicole estimated I slept about 10 hours last night — about double the amount of any other night on this trip. With that being said, I also appear to be developing a cold. There have been quite a few chronic coughers and sniffers throughout this trip, so it’s hard to say exactly where and when I got it. Nevertheless, the breakfast offered by the hotel was very substantial. I loaded up on gallo pinto, fried plantains, chorizo, and pancakes. Nicole was disappointed in her croissant.
We ventured out to the San Francisco Convent and Museum close to rope drop. It is not an active nunnery these days, but it has preserved some of the town’s history including its wood statues of biblical figures such as the Jesus, himself. Erecting such statues is a particularly grand event this time of year close to Easter as each church around town is really involved in the holiday. Yesterday we had a brass band playing inside one of the churches we walked by, something you don’t often see inside a church.
Other than the statues, the museum had some local paintings and other random exhibits, as well as a courtyard to admire. Apparently there are some catacombs underneath as well, but the adjacent church that sits above them wasn’t open at the time. Sorry, bones. Maybe next time…
After chilling for a bit at the hotel, we got all packed up, loaded up the car, filled up on gas, and shook our heads at the consistently unpredictable nature of Nicaraguan traffic. The country recently enacted a new law having a maximum 50kmh speed limit regardless of previously posted limits. The idea was that this would cut down on accidents. As a firsthand witness to Nicaraguan driving patterns, I can assure you that the speed is not the issue. Drivers are just as capable of a signal-less drift across multiple lanes and onto a shoulder at just 30 kmh, followed by an impromptu stopping on the middle of a road while a passenger gets out to do some shopping as the car waits. Pedestrians also do their part by walking down the middle of a road. Don’t even get me started on the horses.
We arrived at Managua’s airport unscathed and National didn’t discover any new nicks, dings, or scratches. I had read that they are very meticulous in Nicaragua about such things, but we did alright. United’s app, as always, was doing an excellent job at annoying us with its persistence flight reminders. “GO TO THE AIRPORT,” it passive aggressively stated about four hours before our flight. United then said they would be boarding at noon about 1h and 20 minutes before our scheduled departure. This was slightly complicated by the fact that our plane wasn’t even on the ground in Managua until about 12:30, but these are just minor details. Emigration and security were quick and easy. Nicole did a bit of tchotchke shopping and I ate a pineapple empanada that was mostly dough.
We were given seats together by ourselves in an exit row on the United 737 Max 8. I settled in with Nuremberg, a timely film about a narcissist and those trying to bring him to justice. Nicole watched Sentimental Value, a Norwegian drama about love and loss. Either way, both of our films featured a dramatic hanging that got interrupted about five times by arrival announcements in two languages. I put on a mask to protect others from my illness. Oddly, everyone else around me was sniffling, sneezing, and hacking without mercy and without mask.
We arrived at Houston’s Bush airport on time. With no direct flights from Nicaragua to Los Angeles (surprisingly), Houston was the next best option. We did have some apprehension due to the ongoing partial government shutdown. Houston’s Bush was one of the country’s worst offenders with the longest wait times. In recent days, it appeared to be improving, so we decided to give it a chance. Global entry was . . .okay except that they were weird about it. Most places, you get your picture taken, get the green arrow, get your name called and you’re off. Today, we got the picture, the green arrow, then stood in a line, then got called to a desk, then I had to show my passport, but Nicole…didn’t. ???
Anyway, we meandered through the baggage claim area and toward connecting flights where we followed the signs to pre-check, which looked like we had inadvertently entered a construction zone at Terminal E before deciding it best to take the old-timey underground tram to Terminal A where it would be calmer. You see, we wanted to just continue on United as the terminal was right there, but it had become oversold with about 20 standbys, so off to American we went.
Terminal A pre-check had no line whatsoever. Nicole grabbed a Which Wich and I got some Chick-fil-A. Then we both tried to find bathrooms, which was a disaster. Nicole went to five different ones because there was either vomit, diarrhea, or other unidentifiable bodily excretions spilling over all the toilets. I walked into a men’s room that had a substantial trail of blood all over the floor. In both cases, we were amongst other people shaking their heads who also did an about face. Nicole went on a Reddit thread where groups of people were talking about the sad state of the bathrooms in Terminal A — like this is an ongoing thing. While some suggested Buc-ee’s needed to take over, I have a more short-term solution. There were these guys hanging around the airport with nothing to do. They were wearing vests and tactical gear and seemed kind of bored. They could really be put to work cleaning out these restrooms.
We got seats on the American/SkyWest Embraer 175 in our own row in Main Cabin Extra. I actually knew the flight crew. It all seems very small town. It was an uneventful flight other than some turbulence and a screaming baby. We parked at “the box” at LAX, the red-headed stepchild (sorry redheads, I didn’t come up with the idiom) of the Los Angeles airport. It requires a ride on my old nemesis — the airport bus to get to terminal 4, which at this moment in time is going for the exposed pipe aesthetic.
But after all that, we were home with relative ease. Reflections coming up soon.
passports & pepto bismol 